Hell On Heels
by short-skirtbluescarf
Summary: Random femlock scene/s. Sherlock's POV. Bits from Uni, Holmes family drama, might work up to Watson and BBC series type material. We'll see where it goes.


What made any of them interested in her- other than the irresistible presence of a genuine challenge? Most of them were intelligent enough, or else they wouldn't be studying at this particular establishment. The science and psychology students didn't have a logical reason to bother and the others only saw the aspects of her person deemed as "mysterious". What a joke. But why? What was it? Certainly not her choice of dress; her black skinny jeans, purple buttoned shirt, black vest, heeled black boots, and long dark wool coat weren't particularly friendly. Her dark short tousled curly hair, unusually thin frame, permanent scowl, and general disinterest in everything were as far from inviting as humanly possible. So why did they think she would fancy _them_ over all the other morons walking the university's ancient halls?

He was coming in for the kill, that much was obvious. But what ridiculous little thought gave him the audacity to approach her? Wasn't her answer completely clear before the laughable question was asked? She knew all the answers to her own questions yet silently asked them anyways. A vast majority of nearby females watched him stride towards her with longing in their own glazed eyes. Perhaps she should have been flattered—they all would be—but she only felt a severe dread sweep over her.

"Afternoon, beautiful." Of all the monstrous lines he could have chosen.

She continued walking as if he had said nothing at all. Sometimes, she could crush their ego enough to send them away before their first words were uttered. Unfortunately, Stephen Wickham looked more determined than ever.

"Ignoring me won't make me go away," he grinned, a smile she had watched persuade the too-accepting hearts and minds of her female peers.

"Unfortunate," she replied rather curtly.

"So about the-"

"No."

"At least listen to the full question," he chuckled, pulse raising, face starting to redden from all the staring eyes, and multiple other signs of decreasing confidence.

"No." What did he not understand? Her answer was both precise and would be the answer to any invitation he could ever give.

"Would you accompany me to the graduation gala, Sherlock Holmes?"

At this, she stopped in her tracks and removed her hands from her coat pockets. The tall woman turned to face him at last. She could practically watch the icy chill that sped down his backside when their eyes met.

"I've already given you my final answer."

"But 'no' isn't enough explanation," he argued when she took her first step away.

An aggravated expression filled her pale face before she turned on her heels and took the single step backwards. Instead of pleasure, Stephen Wickham's eyes widened with a combination of shock and fear. Sherlock's ocean eyes never moved from his as she stopped, toe to toe with the enemy.

"You've already asked two of our unfortunate female peers to this _gala_ thing. Golden-boy blokes like yourself are two a penny and overly predictable. I would make a horrible date. You would lose sight of all mystery I apparently posses in minutes, if it even took that long to sabotage the date myself. Besides my extreme distaste of you as a whole, I'm afraid you wouldn't make very good company." She didn't give him a moment to protest, though his insulted expression was enough. "You see, Mr. Wickham, the slight yellowing of your fingers, overwhelming scent, and nervous twitching of your right hand give you away. I'm trying to quit myself and accompanying a fellow smoker would do nothing for my own nasty habit- well, one of many actually. _You have other bad habits?_ Yes. _Are you secretly a bad girl, miss Holmes?_ Oh, _yes_. But not in the sense you are thinking. Not the passionate secret snogging sessions with another female in the loo as many think. I'm more likely to find a dead body in the loo and lead the investigation as to how it got there- my putting it there myself going completely undetected." Finally a short pause. "Not only could I be less interested if you were the only member of the opposing gender but your hand-picked mob of imbeciles have drawn enough attention to the gala matter that both of your dates have already realized what you've done- or tried to do. Best of luck with that."

As if the entire conversation had never happened, Sherlock returned her hands to the warmth of her pockets and continued down the science hall. Anyone who had heard even a fraction of the exchange watched as she took each step away from the gapping slack-jawed frat bloke.

"Laterz!" she sarcastically added with the sole purpose of adding to Wickham's humiliation. It always worked with Mycroft, so why not?

She didn't need to glance back to know what the idiot looked like at that moment. He was standing, more like slouching, mouth hanging wide open in shock, eyes wide with disbelief, and completely dazed. It would be amazing if he had comprehended even half of her lengthy but rather brief speech. She was mastering the art of quick speaking, a skill that had already been more than useful when used with her always sound logic.

As she approached the adjacent hall, she couldn't help grinning to herself. Maybe she would attend the bloody thing just to cause a fuss. No one would be expecting her to be there. Everyone would be shocked and talking about her very presence. She never could resist a touch of drama.

* * *

**Not sure what this is or what it is going to turn into. Femlock is fun and a bit challenging, great writing practice, so we'll see. Your own thoughts?**


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